


Midnight in a Perfect World

by CypressSunn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Banter, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Intercrural Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23518009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CypressSunn/pseuds/CypressSunn
Summary: Maria leaned against the table, her chin resting in her folded hands. The last dimming lights bounced off her jewelry in diamond white flickers. Her brown russet shift dress flowing as she swayed, the jukebox still crooning fuzzy, psychedelic blues; a blend of slowed beats and rapid samples. This. This was what Michael came for. This is what he waited all night for. An emptied bar that was an oasis, and all her attention that was its waters.
Relationships: Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31
Collections: 101 Prompts Meme





	Midnight in a Perfect World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suzteel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzteel/gifts).



> 101 Prompts - #21: Midnight.
> 
> A meager offering for Maria x Michael fans, courtesy of Suzteel, the saucy minx who prompted "intercrural sex."  
> Song title and lyrics from the legendary track by DJ Shadow circa 1996.

_ “Insight, foresight, more sight—  
the clock on the wall is a quarter past midnight…”  
— DJ Shadow  _

  
  
  
  


First one in, last one out; that was her nightly grind. First she’d check the locks, secure the cash box, put on a pot of the black, black coffee. Trash the inevitably cracked and shattered glassware, sort last night’s confiscated keys, slog through voicemail call-ins, juggle the schedule. Hit the books, punch the numbers. Take stock, print the local dues, haggle over shipment orders. Then double, triple down on the books just to be certain, all with a trusty calculator in hand. And that was all before the patrons arrived.

In the southwest heat, conditions bred selectively for fistfights, gambling and chivalry dressed downed as lechery. Fueled by the beer-soaked air and buzzing neon, it took more to navigate than preparedness, than a dogged nature, or a customer service smile. More even than a third-eye pried open and watchful. It took finesse; something Maria DeLuca had in spades.

Night after night, maneuver and maneuver, Maria clocked the rowdy and wasted before their first sip. Stationed bouncers like chest-master, dine-and-dashers captured and fined. Fed the jukebox the master key pin to keep the tunes coming and the good times rolling; a looped drum break, some guitar riffs, and the words all known by heart.

But Michael loved it best when the rabble cleared out. Well, most of the rabble — save for himself. The _Wild Pony_ closed up shop early on weeknights, half past eleven sharp. That’s when he waited tucked in a back corner booth, feet up on the pleather, his black hat tipped over his eyes. No one bothered him on their way out, knew better by now, he’d suppose. It was no secret that he wanted the bar all to himself. Wanted _her_ all to himself.

She’d play coy for the first half hour, for real work and counting stacks of bills, careful and avoiding looking his way. But eventually, she bites. Milled around his way and swatted his boots off her cushions. 

“You planning on paying rent for the booth or are you settling up your tab?”

Michael knocked his hat up an inch by the brim, all to see her better. “Wasn’t counting on either… not if I could get away with it.”

Maria leaned against the table, her chin resting in her folded hands. The last dimming lights bounced off her jewelry in diamond white flickers. Her brown russet shift dress flowing as she swayed, the jukebox still crooning fuzzy, psychedelic blues; a blend of slowed beats and rapid samples. This. This was what Michael came for. This is what he waited all night for. An emptied bar that was an oasis, and all her attention that was its waters.

“What makes you think you’re getting away with anything?”

Michael shrugged. “With a little guile, a little vice, some sleight of hand, and…” Michael curled his finger, coaxing closer and closer until she slipped into the seat. “A whole lotta degeneracy.”

“A tempting offer.”

“More than tempting.”

He has her now, nearer and packed in against him at the back wall. Neck and neck, chest to chest. He pulled off his hat and tables it by a row of unfinished drinks. Her dress is lifted with ease and slid up her thighs, giving Michael an idea of just what else she could slide, and where. He never voices the thought. No, she’s way ahead of him.

“I thought tonight was gonna end with you and me going for a ride.” Maria smirked, lips parted and coy. “Shoulda known the Chevy was optional.”

Michael chuckled and pulled at his zipper. Shucking off his jeans with him stuck to the seat and her on top of him should be awkward. But they smooth out the angles with laughter and anticipation. The hard parts made easier, the fumbling moments spun into something more. Maria DeLuca just had that effect on the universe. For even the unlikely and unlucky, just being near to her increased the chances of something good falling out of the sky and landing in their lap. And sometimes more literally than others.

Maria’s first rock was insistent, clenched hard around him. Her finger had hooked around the waistband of his boxers, pulling it down just enough to get to the length of him. Wrapped around him, she was warm and tight, perfect and he wasn’t even inside her. Couldn't be— he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Left his condoms in the glove compartment out in the lot. Next time, he would remember, next time— but now he urged her on.

The friction, drag, and rhythm of her hips had him groaning. He was pinned to the spot, gasping into her mouth before he kissed her. She threaded her hands into his hair to guide him, took the reins as she always did. She put his mouth where she wanted it; on her jaw, at her neck, between her breasts. All auxiliary pleasure from the point where they were grinding together, sweat slicking together and thighs locked taut.

“Slow down,” Michael whispered, half begging. He grasped at her waist and pressed fingertips to her hip bones to get his point across.

“Nuh-uh,” she protested, bearing down on him. “The _rider_ set the pace. You know that.”

Michael made an agreeing noise that turned breathless and urgent. “Doesn’t mean you have to do all the work… You've been working all night… So just let me.”

There was something dark about her eyes as she registered what he said. The deep vinous brown colored over with desire. Michael wants to drown in it, wants to drink it in until he forgot the shore and the stars alike. In a signal of trust, Maria unwound her hands from his hair and braced against his shoulders; letting him take control, letting him take care of her. He rolled their bodies together and watched her eyes flutter closed. She held on, close and thrumming, little whimpers escaping her lips. He tilted her back and edged a finger between her legs, kneading the sensitive bud at her core. Maria jolted in place, rucked up his shirt, scratched down in back. Pleading praises she would never dare say sober or dressed poured out of her. His name, _Michael_ , spilled out like a breathless song she couldn’t help but sing as she crested over and pulled him along for the ride.

Michael always looked forward to the next part. The way they lay wound up together and catching their breath after. She never strayed. She only kept the two of them steady as Michael gently drifted back to earth.

“You don’t drink gin,” she muses, recognizing the untouched liquor on the table.

“Nope,” Michael says, watching her pluck a sliced lime wedge from the glass to pop it in her mouth. “But you do.”

Maria hums appreciatively and downs the glass. “Some might think you planned this, Guerin.” This being the mess they’ve made of themselves, clothes rucked back on, napkins cleaning away evidence.

“Only one of us is psychic, and a proclaimed mercenary to boot.”

Maria giggled as she rose up from the booth. It was a beautiful sound. With his black hat in hand, she placed it on the crown of her head and sauntered off. “Thanks for settling up tab, Guerin,” she purred over her shoulder.

Michael shook his head, half laughing before he realized — his wallet wasn’t in his back pocket. Behind the cash register Maria thumbed through the leather and pulled out exact change, and tossed a few dollars into the tip jar.

“Now that’s just playing dirty, DeLuca.” He can’t hide his grin. He’d never get sick of losing to her.

“You’d know a thing or two about dirty, wouldn’t you?” Maria shelved the last bottles without checking the labels, sure of where they were meant to be. Light footed, effortless, spinning. “Get your boots on, Guerin. The _Pony_ is closed and I need a shower. Got me smelling like a river.”

“You love it,” Michael teased. She doesn’t deny it and leads him out into the cool of the desert night.

_**fin.** _


End file.
